A Past Unknown
by preciouslittleingenue
Summary: A rickety old house with creaking floorboards and clattering shutters. A dusty, ancient place in which a miserable old man resides all alone, save his small staff of servants. It seems to be the last place any little girl should want to be. Claire Bealieu quickly becomes intrigued however, and she learns about a time before her, a past unknown.


_Just a little one-shot I came up with. This my first Phantom story on here ever! Please leave reviews and tell me what you think!_

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"Please, dear, don't act so melancholy," her mother chided. "It's only for a few days."

"A week, actually," she said.

"Respect your mother, Claire," her father scolded.

"I do, I do," Claire sighed.

"Please, Claire, do cheer up in front of your grandfather," her mother pleaded. "He'll be absolutely thrilled to see you. And you know how sad, and lonely he's been lately…"

"Yes, Mama, I know," Claire said sadly.

"Try to cheer him up, dear, won't you?" she said, and Claire noticed her eyes glass over with tears.

Claire allowed a tiny smile, her tiny heart feeling guilt at her mother's tears. "I will, Mama. I promise."

"There's my good girl." She beamed and put an arm around her.

Claire leaned into her mother's embrace, resting her head on her shoulder. She sighed sadly. She hated visiting her grandfather. She felt as though she was suffocating every time she walked into the old house. And it truly was an _old_ house. It was practically ancient. There was always dust everywhere, even though servants toiled day and night. The doors and the floorboards creaked; it was as if someone was always walking about, even at night when everyone was in bed. It was rather terrifying. The shutters always rattled like someone was trying to get inside. And it was so _dark._ There were no electric lights, none at all, and it didn't help that her grandfather kept the curtains drawn.

When she was there, she'd always spent her days alone, playing with the ancient toys in her ancient room. Her bedsheets practically _smelled_ ancient. Her grandfather was never around to play with, not like he used to be. He practically blended in with the old furniture. It was just so upsetting to her. Things used to be so cheerful. She used to look forward to visiting the old house. She used to think it exciting.

But that was when she was very small. Things were different now, and she hated it.

The car came to a stop, and Claire had to suppress a groan. She couldn't believe her parents were leaving her here, all alone, for an entire week. The driver opened the door next to her, and she reluctantly allowed him to help her out of the car, followed by her mother. The driver then opened the door beside her father, and he stepped out. The driver handed Claire her suitcase, and she grasped it with her small hands, thanking him politely. Her mother gently placed her hand on her shoulder, and guided her up the walkway to the front door of the house, her father close behind. She knocked on the door, and not so much to their surprise, a servant girl, Mademoiselle Paulette answered.

"Oh, good day Madame Lotte, Monsieur Nicolas," she said to her parents. "And Mademoiselle Claire," she added, smiling down at Claire. "I'm afraid your father has just fallen asleep," she said to Claire's mother. "But of course you're welcome to come inside and wait for him to awake."

"Oh, we'd better not. We really should get going," her father said. Claire's heart sank. They were just going to _leave_ her here, and her grandfather wasn't even here to greet her! She would be all alone for hours!

"Oh, goodbye dear," her mother said, bending down and hugging her tightly. "Please try to enjoy yourself. And please try to make him happy?"

"I will."

"Good girl." She pulled away and kissed her head. She stood up, and her father knelt down.

"Goodbye, Claire," he wrapped his arms around her.

"Goodbye, Papa," Claire said. She kissed his cheek, and he kissed hers.

"We'll see you in a week," he said, standing up. "I love you."

"I love you too, Papa," Claire said.

"And I love you," her mother said.

"I love you too, Mama."

Her parents descended the porch steps and sat down in the car. They both waved to her through the window, and she frantically waved back, desperate to be connected with them until the last possible second. She kept waving, even long after the car had disappeared over a hill.

"It's alright dear," Mademoiselle Paulette said. "They'll be back before you know it." She put her hand on Claire's shoulder and gently pushed her through the door. "Why don't you come inside, dear?" Claire smiled absently and entered the miserable house. "I'll take that for you." The Mademoiselle Paulette took her suitcase from her. "I'll show you to your room, and then you can do whatever you'd like. I'm sure your grandfather will be awake very soon."

Claire was led up the grand staircase, which squeaked every other step. They went down a long hallway, and close to the very end, they stopped at the door that would open to her room. She vaguely remembered sleeping there many years ago, the last time she'd visited for a long period of time. She recalled that the room next to it was her mother's old room. Paulette opened the door and began putting away her clothes in the drawer on the far wall. Claire stepped into the room and looked around. As she had predicted, there were old toys all around, neatly arranged. She would have been lying to herself if she wasn't dreadfully curious to see what they were like. She'd never be able to play freely if there was someone else with her though, and she was becoming dreadfully bored watching someone put away clothes. She quickly dodged out of the room, taking care to be quiet. She scampered down the hallway and stopped at the staircase. She smiled playfully to herself and tentatively placed a foot on the first step. It didn't squeak. She transferred her full weight onto the step, and it still didn't squeak. She then proceeded to make a sort of game out of going down the stairs. She tried her very hardest not to let the stairs squeak, but it proved to be impossible. She kept track of how many times it creaked though, and vowed that she would do better next time.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she wandered to the right, not at all sure where she was going. It had been a very long time since she'd been to this house. She slowly walked on, observing the faded paintings that hung on faded walls. She soon found herself in the parlor, and she wandered about the room curiously. Just as she'd expected, everything was dull and depressing. She sighed sadly and flopped down onto the couch. She wouldn't even have been surprised if her grandfather never even came to meet her. She'd live in his house for an entire week without even seeing him. She'd spend an entire week all by herself, getting lost in a maze of dust, faded walls, creaky floors, and rattling windows.

Her eyes fell on the vacant fireplace, and then they drifted up to the mantle, where something caught her eye. Something sat atop the mantle, accompanied by nothing else but a small clock, and the dust. It was quite possibly the oddest thing she'd ever seen. Sitting there on the mantle was a box, on top of which sat a monkey with a vest, holding a pair of cymbals. She slipped off the sofa and tentatively approached the strange creature. She stretched her hand up as far as she could. If she stood on her tiptoes, she could reach it.

She tossed her head, quickly glancing behind her to be sure that no one was watching her. She stretched as far as she could and firmly grasped the box in her hand. She rocked back onto her heels, holding the box with both of her hands. She studied it carefully, her brow furrowing with confusion. She sat down onto the floor, crossing her legs and holding it in her lap. It was then she noticed the crank on the side of the box. She eagerly grabbed it and turned it, and the sound of gears clicking and turning resounded. She pulled her hand away, watching with anticipation. A tiny twinkling melody came forth, and the symbols suddenly moved, coming together and back apart, as if the monkey was playing them.

Claire watched in awe, listening to the pretty little tune. It soon slowed down, and she immediately turned the crank again, wanting to continue to listen to the beautiful melody. It played again, and she began humming along with the little song. She hummed the tune, gently running her fingers along the monkey's fur and robes.

"Like the song, do you?"

Claire gasped, whirling around with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry to frighten you," the old man standing in the doorway chuckled. "Not very much of a greeting, is it?"

"Hello, Grandfather," Claire said. "I was just looking - "

"It's alright, Claire," he said gently. He stepped further into the room, sitting himself down on the couch. "It's rather interesting to look at isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Claire said. "Do you know the name of the song it plays?"

He wouldn't answer for a moment, and he seemed to be staring at something that Claire would never see even if she tried. "No…I don't…"

"How mysterious," Claire said, looking down at it once again.

"Yes…mysterious…" he said, once again staring off into space. His eyes then fell on his granddaughter, who sat on the floor, looking up at him with her wide eyes. "Bring it here, child," he beckoned.

Claire carefully lifted the music box and walked over to her grandfather, where she sat down beside him. He took it in his hands, running his fingers over the object. "This music box has a history that no human shall ever know…"

"Really?" Claire said.

"When the melody plays, I am reminded of the very story that brought forth the importance of it…"

"What story?" Claire asked eagerly. "Tell me the story, Grandfather! I want to know where this funny little monkey came from!"

He looked her carefully, and Claire gazed into his eyes. They were a beautiful blue, the only part of him that had not faded and turned gray. They seemed to sadden however as he looked at her. "It isn't a story for young ears, Claire," he sighed.

"Well, where did the monkey come from then?" Claire asked.

"I bought it at an auction at the Opera House."

"The Opera House?" Claire said. "That's where Grandmother sang, isn't it?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. "Is the story about Grandmother?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes Claire, it is," he said sadly. "It is the story of a dark angel, and the terrible things that he did."

"Did he do terrible things to Grandmother?" Claire asked frighteningly.

"Yes…he did."

"But you saved her didn't you?"

"Yes, I did." He smiled weakly. "I went to hell and back to save your Grandmother. And this old thing was there the whole time."

There was another pause, and Claire met his eyes again, her gaze not faltering for a moment. "You loved Grandmother very much, didn't you?"

He took a deep breath before answering. "Yes…I…I did. More than anything in the world."

"You miss her terribly," Claire said sadly.

"Yes…I do…" His voice broke, and Claire watched sadly as a tear trickled down her grandfather's worn cheek. She reached up with her tiny hand and wiped the tear away with her little thumb. He caught her hand in his, and his hand then drifted to stroke her smooth cheek.

"You have her eyes, you know," he said.

"I do?"

"Oh yes," he smiled. "Never before have beautiful green eyes such as hers looked upon the earth. The color of the sea. The beautiful rolling waves. It's where we met." They sat there silently for a moment before he continued. "You have her heart too, and so does your mother. Never has a kinder heart graced this earth, nor a freer spirit."

Claire beamed at him. This was the most they'd spoken since her grandmother was alive, and she loved it. She had truly forgotten how much she loved her grandfather. He removed his hand from her cheek, and she kissed him on the cheek. He gently patted her dark curls before kissing her forehead.

"Why don't you go up and play with the toys in your room?" he suggested.

"I want to stay here with you, Grandfather," she insisted.

"I'm very tired right now, Claire. I'm afraid I won't be much fun if you decide to stay in here."

"Oh…alright," she said sadly, slipping off the sofa.

"We'll…we'll talk some more later," he assured her. "During supper."

"Alright," she allowed a tiny smile. "I like talking to you."

"And I like talking to you."

With that, Claire skipped out of the parlor, leaving him alone with the music box. He turned to the box again, and he wound it up. The twinkling melody echoed in his mind, and a devastated sob penetrated the song.

"Oh Christine…"


End file.
